Dissonant Verses
by enc0432
Summary: A slave AU where Mahanon meets Dorian in Tevinter. Before the Conclave, before Dorian's father decides to do the ritual, and before anyone realizes the world is about to be ripped apart. Beta'd by my best friend TheFaye92 Eventual Dorian/Male Lavellan.
1. Chapter 1

_"Now this is the law of the jungle, as old and as true as the sky,_

_And the wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the wolf that shall break it must die._

_As the creeper that girdles the tree trunk, the law runneth forward and back;_

_For the strength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack._

_Wash daily from nose tip to tail tip; drink deeply, but never too deep;_

_And remember the night is for hunting and forget not the day is for sleep._

_The jackal may follow the tiger, but, cub, when thy whiskers are grown,_

_Remember the wolf is a hunter—go forth and get food of thy own._

_Keep peace with the lords of the jungle, the tiger, the panther, the bear;_

_And trouble not Hathi the Silent, and mock not the boar in his lair._

_When pack meets with pack in the jungle, and neither will go from the trail,_

_Lie down till the leaders have spoken; it may be fair words shall prevail._

_When ye fight with a wolf of the pack ye must fight him alone and afar,_

_Lest others take part in the quarrel and the pack is diminished by war." -Rudyard Kipling_

He was ten and he was happy. His uncle had taken him to hunt, and his best friend had come with them. It was his first long one, and they were gone for days. Every snare he laid caught a rabbit, and his uncle let him try at his bow. He was still too scrawny to pull it straight, nearly succeeding in smacking himself in the face. Sulahn laughed at him so Mahanon shoved him into a snowbank.

It was good, until Sulahn accidentally caught a frozen tree on fire. Mahanon's uncle had looked sad then. When they returned to the clan, everything changed. Sulahn was magic.

He was thirteen and his mother told him he was not to spend time with Sulahn anymore. He was to pick a girl from the clan. Start preparing to be a man. He didn't understand it, so he didn't listen. It was Sulahn who forced him away. Mahanon didn't understand that either, so he gave him a gift. A knife with the handle of a wolf. Trying to preserve their past, let Sulahn know he didn't care about the future. They would be together if he had any say in the matter. The Keeper and his mother watched them from afar, but he didn't notice. Sulahn smiled again.

He was sixteen and somehow everything fell apart. His mother sickened, falling in battle, the first and only time Mahanon could remember. He made his first kill in her defense. He received his vallaslin, making her so proud for the first time in a long time. But the wasting illness continued to weaken her. His strong, prideful mother who would never accept him the way he was, died.

He was twenty and spending as little time as possible with the clan. Days or weeks on the trail ahead of them, finding whatever solace he could in the human taverns that would let him in the door. He was a disappointment to his clan and to Sulahn. Yet, somehow, Sulahn still saw something in him. Tried to call him home again. Even when Mahanon told him not to follow...

It was snowing, and he was tired. This deer had led him far too north of the clan. The cold snap was wholly unexpected this close to the Tevinter border. He crept forward, stalking the creature. One last shot, that was all he needed. Then he could return to camp and then to the clan. Rest and then move out again. One last shot and-

_Crunch crunch crunch._

The deer bolted at the heavy steps. Mahanon cursed long and loud in every language he knew before turning to see Sulahn. The First didn't even try to look guilty. He just seemed angry, as he always was with Mahanon these days. Mahanon started stalking back to his camp, bumping shoulders with Sulahn as he brushed past him. He pulled the flask from his hip and drank deeply, letting the fire of the liquid burn through him.

"Is that brandy?"

Mahanon shook the flask at him. "Want some?"

"Dirthara ma. You need to come home."

"Well, thanks to you, I have nothing to bring home. Therefore, I am not coming home."

Sulahn cursed again as Mahanon walked away. That was his mistake, turning his back on a mage. A tingling feeling spread over his legs and he was suddenly unable to move them.

"Fenedhis! Dread Wolf take you!"

The First chuckled and as Mahanon tried to break his legs free. "Don't struggle it'll just make it worse."

He grabbed the flask from Mahanon and drank himself, stepping out of Mahanon's reach as he did. He made a face, looking into it with one eye before dumping the rest into the snow.

"Where do you even find this stuff?"

"Has anyone ever told you what an utter bastard you are?"

Sulahn shrugged. "I'll let you go if you stop running from me."

"I am a grown man, I can handle myself. I don't need you fetching me like an errant pup."

"Well if you don't want to be treated like an errant pup, quit acting like one. Come home."

"To what?"

Sulahn tilted his head. "Me."

"Creators." Mahanon sighed, testing the spell again. "Fine. Release me and I promise I won't run off."

"Good." Sulahn waved his hand and Mahanon was free.

He then took a step closer to Mahanon. Mahanon felt his lips twitch and let Sulahn inch closer, before grabbing his robes and pulling him close enough their noses almost touched.

"Hello stranger."

Sulahn snorted and shook his head, stepping back before Mahanon could kiss him. "You are not getting off that easily."

Mahanon opened his mouth and Sulahn held up his hand.

"Yes yes, getting off. Come on it is far too cold for this."

"You're really making me return home empty handed? What _will _Deshanna say?"

Sulahn rolled his eyes. "As if you care. Shall we?"

"Fine f-"

Mahanon froze. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Never in his life had he ignored his gut, and he knew he shouldn't know. Sulahn paused, looking back at him.

"Do you hear that Sulahn?"

"…No?"

The birds had stopped singing, that was it. Even in the chill, they had been loud up until a few moments before. Mahanon drew his bow and knocked an arrow. He could hear it now, dogs. Humans were coming.

"Sulahn hide in the forest. Whatever you do don't use your magic."

"Mahanon-"

He growled. "Now! While I'm talking run back to the clan."

"I won't leave you here."

Mahanon wanted to kiss and throttle him and the same time. "Do you trust me?"

"You know I do."

The dogs were baying now, scenting them. "Then you have to go. Leave no trace. Go."

Sulahn shook his head but turned on his heel. "Ma'arlath."

"And I you. Leave!"

He ran then and Mahanon was alone. It wasn't for long. The humans crested the hill, bundled up in furs and looking gigantic. The dogs went mad as they surged towards him, forming a ring of three. He let his lips curl up, baring his teeth, but kept his eyes on the humans. One of them stepped forward, and by the Creators if they didn't all look exactly alike some days.

"Lower your weapon rabbit. We don't want to hurt you."

Mahanon snorted. "Call off your dogs and I won't loose this arrow."

"You can't kill all of us."

"True."

Mahanon didn't lower his bow. He could see the dogs inching forward. The shem went for his belt and Mahanon let the arrow fly. It hit its mark, killing the leader. One dog, a mabari, latched onto his arm. He managed to free a dagger with his left hand, driving it into the dog's skull and freeing it as the other ones came at him. His right arm was useless, dripping blood into the snow. He heard it steam before the other two dogs attacked at once. They were smaller, mutts, and none too bright. He got one on the throat and the other across the leg before they got too close. It was pathetic, limping as it circled him. A soft thing. It leapt anyways and Mahanon buried his dagger into its jugular.

He was losing a lot of blood, starting to shake. Still, he pulled the dagger out, and forced his right hand to grip a second as the two humans left circled him. It gave him a twisted sort of pleasure to see their friend lay dead in the snow, arrow sticking out of a bloody eye. He grinned, seeing one of the humans stop himself from taking a step back. They didn't see or didn't care he could barely hold his weapons. Once more they attacked at once. He got the one on the left, who lowered his guard and got a gash across his belly for the effort. Turned out he had underestimated the one on the right, who had spotted his weakness and hit his wound as hard as he could. His dagger dropped from nerveless fingers, and he sank to his knees.

Still, he got his second dagger into the man's calf. Right before the man grabbed his throat and clubbed him in the head with the hilt of his sword.


	2. Chapter 2

_Old longings nomadic leap, chafing at custom's chain; _

_Again from its brumal sleep, wakens the ferine strain. -_Jack London

Mahanon opened his eyes and immediately slammed them shut. Some sadistic bastard had placed him right in front of the fire, and the light had not helped the headache. He could feel his hands and legs were bound tightly, and he was laying on his side. Outside of the obvious concussion and the throbbing wound on his arm, he was unharmed. For the moment. He cracked one eye open again, not sure what had happened. He remembered Sulahn coming after him, getting attacked by dogs, and then it was blank.

"I think that little knife-eared bastard is awake."

"Go tell the boss."

Mahanon bit back a groan as his head throbbed. A shem, a heavy-set man with a bandaged leg, sat down next to him. He blinked, confused at the malice in the man's eyes. The man cocked his head.

"Hit you a little hard didn't I? You don't even remember me." Mahanon remained silent and the man nodded. "I best get to it then. We need to know where the rest of your clan is."

He turned his head. The man snorted and suddenly a big hand grabbed Mahanon's short hair, dragging him upright. He clenched his jaw, tears stinging his eyes at the pain. The thug got very close to him, breath foul and warm against his face. He patted Mahanon down slowly, removing everything. Including the ironbark ring that had belonged to his mother, grinning and pocketing it before deigning to talk.

"You really don't want to play hard to get with me boy." He sat Mahanon down hard, pulling out a knife. "Speak."

Mahanon bared his teeth. "Ar tu na'lin emma mi len'alas lath'din."

"Wrong answer."

The bastard swung, breaking Mahanon's nose as he knocked him down. The man kicked him in the mouth next, making him bite his tongue and knocking a tooth loose. Mahanon spat it out.

"Fuck you."

He got a kick in the gut for that. He tried to crawl away only to get another one. Then he was being dragged up by his hair again, the man holding the tip of the knife to his chin. He forced Mahanon's head in the direction of a man getting his belly sewn up.

"We don't have a healer. We _do _have ten guys ready to slit your throat. Or fuck you until you talk. Take your pick."

Mahanon spat the blood in his face this time. "Do what you want. Just kill me when you're done."

The man growled and threw him back to the ground. Mahanon tensed, not sure how much more he could take. It was slowly dawning on him these men were slavers. He was terrified. But he thought of his tiny cousins in cages, of Sulahn at the hands of this giant fuck, and tried to quell the fear. He almost choked on it instead. But the blows never came, just the sound of a scout shouting.

"That fucking elf is back! I saw im'!"

The big bastard looked from Mahanon to where his men were readying their weapons. He looked down at Mahanon and then grabbed a hammer from next to the fire. He slammed the hilt into Mahanon's ankle, shattering it. He missed the triumphant words the man spat out before running off. He could only moan through the white-hot pain.

Mahanon didn't know how long he lay there, a ball of misery. Even if he had gotten the chance to run, he no longer could. He'd be lucky if he ever ran again. Worse still was the distinct possibility his clan might be next. Might join him in the nightmare he now found himself existing in. Then there came the shouting, and he could hear heavy footfalls around his head as he faded in and out. Pain brought him straight back as he was hoisted onto the back of a horse and strapped down like so much baggage.

"That little white-haired demon."

"That's unnatural. He's a ghost."

"There's no such things as ghosts shite-for-brains."

Mahanon had no idea what they were talking about. Only that the horse didn't help any of his injuries, keeping tortorously awake through the long night of riding. When he was lucky he passed out. When he wasn't, his ankle or head would throb and wake him back up. A couple of times he was sick, until he had nothing left and another thug he didn't recognize threatened to kill him for it. At long last it appeared their mad dash was over. The sky began to lighten, and Mahanon was slipping into a comfortable numbness. As the sun rose he was vaguely aware of being untied, and then lain down on something resembling cloth. Or at least he thought it may have been once. It was a moot point because he fell asleep almost instantly.

Dorian woke rather late. Late and with a decisive ache in his head. He groaned and raised the offending appendage, finding he was in...somebody's house. Not his own certainly. He looked down at the man sleeping on the floor beneath the couch he happened to be on. The name escaped him as did most of what they had done the night before. Dorian stepped over his prone form as quickly and as gingerly as he could, grabbing his clothes. A look at an old grandfather clock, tacky thing in the shape of a dragon, told him he had not only overstayed his welcome but was late for his meeting with Alexius. He got dressed hastily, smoothing his hair as he ran down the steps. A slave, a rather stalwart fellow with a knowing gaze held his staff out for him as he left. Freshly polished too.

It was a mad rush through the midday crowds, the cloyingly sweet stench of the perfumed nobility not helping his headache. Minrathous was alive and well this morning, and far too bright. It was with a foul temper he found his way into Alexius', half an hour late. Which Felix happily reminded him of as he stepped into the welcome shade of the foyer.

"You're late."

"As usual Felix, your talent for stating the obvious remains intact. Good on you."

Felix just rolled his eyes and forced Dorian to stop, stepping in front of him. He smooth Dorian's robes, straightening his collar. As he did he poked at something on Dorian's neck.

"Dorian you may want to see a physician. It appears some feral beast has been at your neck again."

He groaned and slapped Felix's hand away. "You are about as helpful as a toothless, mangy mutt."

"Flattery will get you everywhere my friend."

Felix looked him over and nodded, admiring his handiwork. "You are presentable. And even more late."

"Vishante kaffas."

He brushed past Felix and swept through the doors towards the study. Felix's warm laughter followed him through the doors. For all of his frustration today, he enjoyed the Alexius' manor. Not just because of the appointments, though they were tasteful and beautiful, but because of Gereron himself. And by extension, Felix and his mother. Here, his studies were what mattered. Changing Tevinter was what mattered. He could forget everything else. He walked in to find his mentor sitting to tea, most of the biscuits gone. Dorian's place was set and he would bet right hand the tea was cold. Without looking up from his his book, Alexius spoke.

"You're late."

"Am I now?" Dorian took a sip of his tea, making a face.

Alexius glanced up. "How's the tea?"

"Excellent as always."

The magister laughed lightly. "Judging by just how hungover you are, I take it your father told you the news."

"That I am to consign myself to becoming just like him? Married to a wife who hates me and fathering a child I know nothing about, continue the great legacy of House Pavus? That I am to 'grow up' as he so eloquently put it?"

Alexius snorted. "Acting like a child is doing nothing to disservice the notion that you need to 'grow up' Dorian."

Dorian sighed, taking another sip of the ice-cold tea. It did nothing to settle the pit in his stomach. He could see the rest of his life before him, spread out like a yawning canyon, waiting to swallow him. And it was choking the life from him. Alexius closed his book with a snap, calling him back from the edge.

"Come Dorian, I have just the thing to take your mind off your stewardship of the Pavus legacy."

Dorian forced a smile, grabbing a biscuit and following Alexius to the library. He could at least pretend the leap was farther off than it really was, for a few hours anyways.

_He could hear them. The wolves ahead. They sounded afraid. He turned and saw why. The faceless, coming for him. He ran. Somehow, even wolves had to be better than the ones chasing him. He chased the howling but it only got farther and farther away until he was utterly lost. There were trees, dark and shadowy, and silence. He was alone. Then they were on him and he couldn't run. His legs refused to respond, and hot fear surged through him. But instead of the faceless, of the people he had no name for, there only a singular black snake. It slithered towards him before biting him in the ankle. _

Mahanon groaned as he jerked awake, a dozen hurts making themselves known. His ankle was by far the worst and he almost whimpered but for the heavy boot that made its appearance next to his face, stifling any noise. That and he came to the realization he hadn't had any food or water in almost three days. Sulahn's face as he sipped from a flask came to mind, and Mahanon had to close his eyes. He'd been wrong about the worst of the pain. He was in a tent, and could hear the gentle lapping of waves. His mouth and throat were coated in the tangy taste of his own blood, making his stomach ache all the worse.

"Can you sit up?"

Mahanon opened his eyes and saw it wasn't his tormentor from the night before, but a younger man. One who almost looked…sympathetic. Mahanon shook his head slightly, still not willing to speak to these people unless forced. The younger man nodded and sat him up carefully. He took out a dagger and Mahanon flinched. The man patted his arm awkwardly and cut through the binds on his ankles. Mahanon hissed.

"Aye I know. But if you ever want to walk again I have to bind it."

He grabbed at Mahanon's boot and Mahanon closed his eyes, sucking in a breath through his mouth.

"Sweet Maker."

Mahanon forced his eyes open before turning his head. He really shouldn't have looked at the pulpy mess that had become his ankle. Hate coursed through his veins, making him see read. He was going to kill the fucking bastard who did it.

"Okay. Well. Nose first then."

With one fell move the man grabbed Mahanon's nose and yanked.

"Fenedhis!"

He almost passed out again before the man grabbed his shoulders. "I'm sorry. Well not really. The bones have to heal straight."

"You can shtop helping now if that's what you're shupposed to be doing."

The man sighed. "I am sorry this was done to you. Larson is well…a right bastard. Though you also killed his brother."

"I'll be shure to plache flowersh on hish grave. After I'm done pishing on Larshon's."

The young human chuckled. "My name's Harry."

"You musht be sho proud."

"Just keep in mind I'm not the enemy when I unbind your hands alright? In fact, I'm the only one in a dozen leagues who can heal you and if you try to kill me your foot will probably fall off."

Mahanon grunted and _Harry_ reached around him and sliced through the leather cords. That time he did faint for a minute. The mix of blood rushing back into dead fingers and the relief/pain of his shoulders finally able to relax was too much. When he came to Harry was holding him up again. The man pulled back hastily when Mahanon was able to sit up on his own again, grabbing his arm and rubbing his wrist and hands to get the blood flowing. He pulled back Mahanon's shredded armor, revealing the dog bite that, compared to everything else, didn't look _that_ bad.

"How're you even alive?"

Harry sounded rather impressed. Mahanon didn't dignify that with an answer. Harry sat back to look at the ankle, still daunted by it it seemed.

"If you are going to amputate the blighted thing I'd rather you do it shooner than later."

"Just…take a deep breath."

Mahanon opened his mouth to argue but Harry grabbed his ankle. Green light flooded the tent. Spirit healing. Mahanon almost cried in relief when the pain dissipated. Not entirely. The light disappeared and his ankle was still bruised and puffy. But the bones were set. He wouldn't be crippled for life. Harry grinned, wiping his brow.

"I'm so happy that worked."

Mahanon cocked his head. "Why _wouldn't_ it have worked Harry?"

The man frowned. "I'm not a very good mage. That's how I ended up here."

Before he could ask what that meant, Larson and a couple of other men entered the tent. Mahanon didn't have time to even think the word 'run' before his arms were grabbed roughly and he was clapped in irons. They dragged him out, all but dangling him in-between them. He was stunned by what he saw. They were by the sea alright, on the outskirts of a city. A port. There were dozens of large, sea-faring ships, the biggest he had ever seen.

He was unceremoniously shoved into a cart with seven other elves, some Dalish, some not. All in varying degrees of disrepair, though he thought he was probably the worst. One man was crying. Mahanon might have joined him if he'd had anything left.

The cart moved forward with a lurch, Larson following close behind on a horse. They headed into the city proper, and Mahanon knew vaguely what it was. It was something he'd always been sort of frightened of, these pirate cities feeding slaves into the Imperium. It had been rather nebulous, like his fear of darkspawn or his fear of those fluffy herding dogs shems were so fond of. Now it was visceral, something he was a part of, another cog in the machine. It was a beautiful day, the sun shining and the sky clear and blue, making him heartsick.

The people ignored them, making Mahanon want to scream at them. Humans, dwarves, and elves together glancing at them and looking away like they were no more interesting than cattle. Then it faded, the dead look in the eyes of the others crushing his will to fight. The spark faded. He watched numbly as gold changed hands, Larson gave him one last cruel grin, and they were dragged out by a new set of thugs. He felt as a dead man as he was led up the gangplank, into the dark bowels of the monstrous slave ship that would take them to Tevinter.


	3. Chapter 3

_"The land itself was a desolation, lifeless, without movement, so lone and cold that the spirit of it was not even that of sadness. There was a hint in it of laughter, but of laughter more terrible than any sadness-a laughter that was mirthless as the smile of the Sphinx, a laughter cold as the frost and partaking of the grimness of infallibility."_ -Jack London

The ship creaked in the water, the new slaves holed up by the dozens in the cargo hold. Mahanon's had been chained to the wall by his injured ankle, the wound on his arm ignored. It was a day before the humans joined them. Or so Mahanon guessed, he was fading in and out, it was getting hard to clock the time. There were only twelve of them compared to the elves, and as it turned out Harry was amongst them. He was placed next to Mahanon, hands bound behind his back. A man was placed on the other side of Harry, glaring daggers at Mahanon. He found it hard to care. At least until the ship was underway. He could feel the lurch, and the noise of gulls coming from the tiny window on the far wall faded.

Mahanon finally turned his head to find the man still looking at him spitefully. "What?"

"Oh he blames you for getting us sold. Larson got rid of everybody, disbanded his company with his brother dead. Now we're off to the Imperium with you."

"Wonderful."

The man snapped. "Don't talk for me Harry."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'd introduce you but I don't know your name. He's Jax."

"That's an unfortunate name."

The man growled and turned his head. Harry sighed.

"Jax was a templar at my circle. I'm an apostate. Lyrium withdrawal makes him crabby."

"I would have thought it was the slavery thing."

Harry actually chuckled. "That too."

"Are you always this…"

Jax chimed in. "Yes. He is."

Harry frowned. "I'm always what?"

Mahanon felt his lips twitch and leaned back into the old wood, closing his eyes. His arm was throbbing now, as was his head. It was easier just to drift off. Try to stay numb about what was happening to him.

"What's your name?"

Mahanon opened one eye. "Does it matter?"

Harry shrugged. "It does to me."

"Why?"

"Well…we're friends aren't we?"

Jax snorted. "Maker's balls man you're a slave now. Act like it."

Mahanon saw Harry's face fall. He sighed.

"Just…call me Lavellan."

Harry grinned. "Is that your name?"

"No."

"What does it mean?"

Jax groaned. "It means shut your gob and let the man sleep Harry."

"Fine, fine. Lavellan."

He sounded happy to have won that much. Mahanon had no idea how that was even possible. He drifted into an uneasy sleep, feeling too hot and too empty. It was hours later a rough hand shook him awake, forcing water to his lips. Mahanon sucked at it greedily, not even questioning the pirate giving it to him. All too soon it was taken away and a chunk of bread with cheese was pressed into his hand. Shamefully he gulped it down before Harry could finish his own drink of water.

As it turned out, his habit of finishing his food as fast as possible saved him from getting it stolen as the days stretched on. The humans in particular seemed to struggle with the meager rations, though some of the captured Dalish _whined_ at the lack of food. They fought, using the manacles as best they could. Jax would move protectively in front of Harry on those occasions, the pirates often not coming down in time to stop the fights, or even adjusting the chains so they couldn't reach each other. They just didn't seem to care. For whatever reason, Mahanon found the sporadic bouts of crying for the Maker or the Creators to save them bothered him more than the sight of slaves bashing each other's brains in. It didn't help his arm grew infected, and a fever set in. When he was lucid, he just wanted everything to _end_. Especially, the crying.

The worst of it was Jax. The lyrium withdrawals only got worse as the days wore on. Mahanon was plagued by fever dreams and hallucinations, most featuring snakes and spiders. Jax was going mad. He screamed for hours, lashed out in his sleep. He almost broke poor Harry's nose. The pirate's, evidently, took notice. After a particularly vicious nightmare of his own Mahanon woke to find Jax was just gone, a puddle of blood left in his place. Harry was crying silently. Mahanon knew if his fever didn't break soon, he was next.

It was going to be one of _those_ days. Dorian could tell. His father's jaw was tight when he joined him at breakfast. His mother's absence was notable. The meal was a silent affair, the only noise coming from clinking plates as the slaves removed them. Dorian took his leave, though not before his father could ask him where he had been the night before. He shrugged.

"I stayed late at Alexius'."

"And then?"

Dorian lied. "Then I went to call on Mae."

"Not Livia." His father's expression didn't change. "She is tailor-made for you."

"No. She bloody well isn't."

He really needed to learn to keep his mouth shut. His father rose. It was becoming quite the ineffective technique, now that Dorian was taller than him. Now that he was less willing to bow to the man's wishes. Even still, he felt all of four years old at the flash in the man's eyes.

"These youthful dalliances must _end_ Dorian. You will cease flaunting your depravities around Minrathous!"

"Is that all I am to you now? The depraved disgrace to the Pavus name? I thought I was your son!"

"Get out of my sight." Magister Halward threw a plate at his head that he barely ducked. "Get _out_! You are no son of mine!"

Dorian fled the room. He couldn't _stay_, he couldn't do this any longer. Live a lie. He had had his reasons for staying. His mother in her infirmity, finishing his work with Alexius, the vain hope his father would come around. The fact he had nowhere to go. Stomach twisting into painful knots he went to his mother's room, dismissing her slaves with a wave of his hand. The room was dark, the curtains drawn tight even thought it was well into the morning. He remembered a time, only a couple of years before, when she was as active as his father, up with the slaves at dawn to run the house. Beautiful and sharp as the day they'd married, that's how his father used to describe her. Now she was barely what he considered to be lucid, smiling slowly when she recognized him, eyes far away and dreamy.

"Dorian darling. Come here."

He was angry. Perhaps irrationally so, but he felt abandoned by her. Here she was in some dreamscape, letting his father do as he would, hopelessly addicted. And he was helpless, unable to force her to help herself, and unable to stop his father from enabling her.

"Mother can you even stand?"

She laughed, shaking her head happily. "Is there someplace we need to go?"

"Getting out bed today might be nice don't you think?"

She frowned. "I've upset you."

She reached for the bottle on her nightstand. A pretty thing, jeweled glass colored a deep blue, the tincture of opium swirling around inside. He grabbed it angrily and stormed out. His mother's cries to her slaves falling on deaf ears as he left the manse entirely. Dorian wandered aimlessly, eventually coming to Alexius', knowing full well he wasn't there. He didn't know what he wanted, what he needed, only that he couldn't be home. Luckily, it was Felix who answered the door.

"Dorian?"

Dorian walked in, shaking his head. "Just thought I'd pop in for a visit."

Felix followed him, taking one look at him and waving his hand. "Come on."

Felix lead him upstairs to his room. Dorian was barely holding it together at that point, shutting the door behind him. He leaned on it heavily, feeling winded. His knees buckled and he slid down to the floor, shaking his head.

"Dorian what happened?"

He was still holding the laudanum bottle. Tears stung his eyes as he looked at it, wondering what taking it all at once would do. Felix took it from him gently, bracing his shoulders.

"You're okay. It's okay Dorian. You're going to be okay."

Dorian broke down then, unable to bear up under the kind words. He fell apart silently, Felix rubbing his arms, murmuring all the while, telling him he was okay. That he was safe. Dorian wished he could believe him.

He was dying. Mahanon was certain of it. He would die, head pillowed in Harry's lap, throat cut by a pirate and body dumped overboard. Harry tried, sweet Mythal he did try. But without his hands there was nothing he could do for the festering wound on Mahanon's arm. All he could do was beg Mahanon not to leave him alone.

"Lavellan please. Please don't do this."

Mahanon moaned. His thoughts were of Sulahn. Of soft black eyes and tangled hair. Wondering if he'd done the right thing. Praying that as little as he had done that was of any worth in his life, he had gotten _that_ part right at least. He also knew he didn't want to die. No he wanted to fight, sink this fucking ship if he could, do something besides die alone in the dark.

He fell asleep again, or so he thought. He opened his eyes and he was back in the forest, head in Sulahn's lap as the mage stroked his hair. It was…nice. He smiled.

"Hello stranger."

"Ma vhenan." Sulahn smiled back softly. "What are you thinking?"

He wasn't thinking anything. He just didn't want this moment to end. Sulahn chuckled, bending to kiss him. Mahanon opened his mouth, let Sulahn control the kiss. He closed his eyes, his breathing starting to come fast. Then he knew. He shot out from under Sulahn and jumped to his feet.

"This isn't right. This…we did this already."

Sulahn frowned, looking hurt. Mahanon almost gave in, wanting to kiss that look off of his face. He hated that look. But it was wrong. He couldn't quite remember why. Then his arm throbbed and he looked down, seeing the blood streaks. He fell to his knees, remembering. The not-Sulahn sighed, sounding quite put upon.

"You cling to a body that has failed you."

Mahanon grabbed his arm, rocking slightly with the pain. "What else am I to cling to? This…illusion?"

"What gave me away?"

The not-Sulahn shifted, revealing its true form. Or as close as Mahanon was going to get to seeing it. A monster, a man with horns growing out of his head, hair a purple flame. He had a necklace of gold, the chain piercing his nipples. A sheer cloth wrapped around his waist. He tilted his head, waiting for Mahanon to respond. He shook his head as his arm spasmed again.

He spoke through clenched teeth. "You smell wrong."

He was starting to get an inkling of what this was. Either it was another nightmare or a demon. He really hoped it was the first one. The demon just laughed.

"You know I could make it stop. The pain. I could save you."

Mahanon snorted. "And the price?"

"Nothing you'll miss. I could free you, take you back to your clan. You would be hale and home."

It was tempting. Despite every cautionary tale he had ever heard screaming no in his head, it was tempting. But his body had already been sold. He would not trade his soul as well.

"No."

The demon shifted back into Sulahn, this time forgoing the illusion of clothing. Mahanon grit his teeth.

"You really think that will work?"

"Won't it?"

His arm spasmed again. He cried out.

"Let me go!"

"Not yet. I'm not done with you yet."

A blue glow caught Mahanon's eye. He turned to find a spirit forming, vaguely human in appearance, though it flickered unevenly. The demon growled.

"Leave! He is mine!"

The spirit ignored him, or was incapable of responding. Mahanon got the sense it was benevolent as it moved towards him, floating over the forest floor. It grabbed his arm, making the demon scream. Yet it did not approach. The spirit's touch was warm, soothing the pain. The forest around them flickered and shifted. The area around them now reminded him of nothing, just a pale gold fog. The spirit was still moving over his arm, the sensation feeling very much like dipping it in warm water.

"What are you? Why help me?"

"I am Compassion. I help you because you need help. You must live."

"What for?"

Compassion did not respond. The Fade began to dissipate, and Mahanon realized he was waking up. The spirit flickered out of sight, and Mahanon gasped, coming back into reality with a jolt. Harry was there, still pleading with him to live. He sat up, feeling his mistake. He had missed his last meager meal, and was weakened by their time in the hold. He leaned against the wall, using his shoulder for balance. Mahanon found he was panting, breathing in the stale air as if he'd never drawn breath before. His body was sore, but it was bearable. He was going to live.

Harry stared at him, wide-eyed. "Your arm. Lavellan your arm."

His arm had been healed. There was a scar, twisted and gnarled from the infection, but the wound itself was gone. He sat down heavily. _It was just a dream. It had to be just a dream._

"I met…I was-"The sound of seagulls met his ears; the noise distracted him. "We're near the shore again."

Harry look towards the window. The other slaves were looking out as well, the ones with some fight left in them getting to their knees. Harry moved instinctively closer to Mahanon. A new tension filled the room, yet no one spoke. There was no panic left, no prayers. Just the pirates coming for them. Once more Mahanon was dragged to his feet, marched out onto the deck. He shielded his eyes as best he could against the sun, before he was shoved forward. Solid ground made his legs shaky, the lack of food and sun screwing with his vision. When he adjusted he froze, awed.

They had landed in the largest city he had ever seen. Marble buildings climbed into the sky, their roofs tipped with gold. Crumbling stone dragons and stained glass windows caught his eye. The tallest buildings twisted and spiraled, making even the oldest trees he'd seen look like miserable sticks in port itself was bustling with life, galleons several times larger than the ship he'd just been carted off stood stoically against their smaller and sleeker counterparts, whit sails billowing in the breeze like so many clouds. The people bustled about in every color and shape humans came in, flocking about in a chaotic dance only they seemed to know.

And the slaves. Mostly elven, some human and dwarf. All recognizable by the collars and brands they wore. It brought him back to who he was now. Or who he was supposed to be. There was a part of him that had almost gone out, snuffed out by despair. A spark that would never accpet this fate. But he had survived, and he was determined not to let that part die. _Bend, but do not break._ That was when one of the pirates cuffed him in the back of the head.

"Keep moving slave."

He clenched his jaw and stepped forward onto the dock. _Welcome to the Tevinter Imperium._


End file.
